


Carrying Water

by carolinecrane



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:59:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4942348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Racetrack's Manhattan. But he's also Brooklyn, kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carrying Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coricomile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/gifts).



It took a little longer than usual to get out of Manhattan, on account of the Halloween parade. Racetrack stuck around to watch some of it, and he even sold a couple papes to businessmen standing around in the crowd. He thought about skipping Sheepshead altogether and selling in Manhattan for once, but that meant competing with the other newsies milling around, and anyway he kind of liked the trip through Brooklyn.

 _Why_ he liked it Racetrack tried not to think too hard about, as a general rule. 

Still, Sheepshead was good business; there was no competition from other newsies, for one thing, and after he sold all his papes Racetrack could usually slip into the track and place a couple bets before heading back to Manhattan in time for curfew. He was cutting it pretty close today thanks to his late start, but he hitched a ride on the back of a trolley and made up some time, at least until the driver noticed him. When he got close to the bridge he took a shortcut down an alley he passed through all the time. 

It took him pretty close to the wharf, which meant he sometimes ran into some of Spot’s boys. Mostly they left him be, whether on Spot’s orders or because they didn’t consider him worth their time he couldn’t say. Today there was nobody around, though, and Racetrack figured it was on account of the fact that he’d gotten such a late start to his day.

He was halfway down the alley when he saw something move in a nearby doorway, but before he got a look at whatever it was, a hand reached out from another doorway and grabbed him by the arm. A second later Racetrack found himself pushed up against a door, the handle digging into his back and Spot Conlon grinning at him from up close.

“Hey, Spot,” Racetrack said, going for casual but mostly failing. “I was just on my way...”

“Shut your trap,” Spot said, but he was still grinning, so Racetrack figured that meant he wasn’t sore about finding Racetrack in his neighborhood or anything. 

Spot didn’t let go of him, but he leaned out of the doorway and nodded at somebody Racetrack couldn’t see. A few seconds later a loud tapping sound echoed down the alley, like somebody was banging on one of the doors. Spot crowded Racetrack up against the door, pressed against him from chest to knees. When Racetrack swallowed and opened his mouth to ask what they were doing, exactly, Spot reached up and clamped a hand over Racetrack’s mouth, his other hand reaching up to press a finger to his own lips.

Racetrack nodded to signal that he got the message, and Spot smiled and pulled his hand away from Racetrack’s mouth. He let it rest on Racetrack’s shoulder instead, looking Racetrack up and down in a way that was so distracting Racetrack almost missed the sound of a door banging open somewhere in the alley. A second later they heard a man’s voice, loud and angry and Spot pressed even harder against Racetrack to make sure they weren’t seen.

They stayed that way until the door slammed shut, then Spot stepped away from Racetrack and out of the doorway. One of Spot’s boys was already pulling the knocker they’d fashioned off the door when Racetrack stepped back into the alley. He was flanked by two more of Spot’s boys, both of them doubled over with laughter. They were nearly clear when the door swung open again, and the three of them scattered, grinning as they yelled over their shoulders for Spot to look out.

A man in a dirty white shirt and suspenders shouted down the alley after them, shaking a fist in the air. Racetrack stood frozen in the doorway watching the man, but before he turned and spotted him Spot grabbed his arm and pulled him in the other direction. Racetrack stumbled, and he heard the man swing around to shout in their direction, but he righted himself and tore off after Spot, letting himself be pulled along until they were clear of the alley and safe in the next street.

They leaned against the side of a building to catch their breath, shoulders pressed together and Racetrack’s wrist still warm from where Spot’s hand had been just a minute ago. Racetrack glanced over to find Spot looking at him, still grinning like this was the most fun he’d had in ages. Racetrack couldn’t help grinning back at him, and when Spot laughed Racetrack felt it in his stomach.

“Come on,” Spot said, nodding toward the street.

“I gotta get back. Curfew, you know,” Racetrack said, but Spot was tilting his head and smiling and the last thing Racetrack wanted to do was head back across the bridge alone.

“So you don’t get back by curfew, big deal,” Spot said. “Brooklyn’s very accommodating to our guests.”

Racetrack wasn’t positive, but it kind of sounded like Spot was offering to put him up for the night. Which was probably a bad idea, considering, but when Spot’s hand closed around the front of his jacket to haul him forward, Racetrack didn’t put up a fight.

They met up with Spot’s boys at the end of the street. One of them was keeping a lookout while the other two worked on taking down a sign outside one of the stores that had already closed for the night. As soon as they got it loose they ran across the street to another closed store, then they took down that sign and switched it with the first one. When they were finished they moved on to the next store to repeat the process.

Racetrack knew the boys back in Manhattan were probably busy doing the same thing, or maybe tossing rotten vegetables they’d found behind a restaurant at passing carriages. So he didn’t argue when Spot grabbed his hand and pulled him down the street to another store; he just gave Spot a boost so he could reach the sign hanging over the door.

By the time they ran out of steam most of the stores in the neighborhood had the wrong sign hanging in front of them. The sound of firecrackers made them flinch and then laugh every so often, and Spot’s boys ran ahead to try to catch some of the show, Racetrack figured. He expected Spot to follow them, but he hung back, strolling down the street like he had nowhere in particular to be.

There were lots of boys out, some of them newsies, some of them factory boys or just kids from the neighborhood. Smashed tomatoes on the side of a building told Racetrack they’d already started throwing vegetables, and he knew from experience there were plenty of other pranks being played tonight. Right about now Blink and Mush were probably plotting to steal Crutchy’s crutch and hide it somewhere in the boarding house; it was an annual tradition, and Crutchy was always a good sport about it.

It felt kind of weird to be missing all the usual stuff back in Manhattan, but when Spot caught his sleeve and steered him into another alley, Racetrack didn’t really mind. This one was just as deserted as the last one, and now that the sun was going down and the shadows were getting longer, it felt a little creepy. Considering it was Halloween, Racetrack figured that was kind of appropriate, and he let out a laugh before he could stop it.

Spot looked over at him, grinning for a second or two before he said, “You’re not usually on this side of the bridge so late.”

“Yeah, I got a late start today,” Racetrack answered. “The parade, you know.”

Spot nodded, then glanced toward the end of the alley. It was still deserted, and he stopped in his tracks and turned to face Racetrack. “When are you gonna give it up and just admit you’re Brooklyn?”

“What are you talking about?” Racetrack asked, frowning at Spot in the darkness.

“If you’re scared of leaving Jack that’s one thing.”

“Me? Scared of Jack?” Racetrack made a dismissive noise and looked away from Spot. “I ain't scared of Jack.”

“Yeah? What are you scared of, then?” Spot asked, closer all of a sudden, and Racetrack just had time to panic when more fireworks went off a few streets away.

Spot gripped the front of his jacket and pushed him backwards, crowding him into another doorway. It was even darker in the shadow of the building, and Racetrack swallowed hard and flexed his hands at his sides to keep himself from touching Spot.

“I ain’t scared,” he said again, but his voice caught on the words and his stomach did a backflip.

“Coulda fooled me.” Spot grinned, and Racetrack was pretty sure he was being laughed at, so he swallowed hard and tried again.

"I ain't Brooklyn either."

"Coulda fooled me there, too," Spot said, but it was softer this time, like maybe he wasn’t as sure as he wanted Racetrack to think. 

It wasn't like he didn't have a point. Racetrack passed through Spot's turf every day, and even selling at Sheepshead was technically selling in Spot's territory. But nobody else seemed to want it, and up til now it had never been a problem. If it was going to become a problem...well, Racetrack wasn’t going to up and switch allegiances to Brooklyn just to keep his claim on Sheepshead. 

He wasn’t. It was kind of tempting when Spot was pressed up against him like that, though.

Racetrack glanced down at Spot’s hand where it rested on his chest, fingers kind of curling around the fabric of his shirt. “What are we talking about here, Spot?”

“We’re talking,” Spot said, drawing the words out as he slid his hand up Racetrack’s chest to curve around his neck, “about why you’re so hung up on staying loyal to Jack Kelly when you spend all your time in Brooklyn.”

“I was born in Manhattan,” Racetrack said, but it was hard to focus on the conversation when he could feel Spot’s breath on his cheek. “It’s not about Jack.”

"Just 'cause you were born in Manhattan doesn't mean you have to spend your whole life there.”

"I haven't lived all that long yet,” Racetrack answered, and when Spot let out a soft laugh, he smiled. “Since when is Brooklyn recruiting, anyway? Seems to me you’ve got plenty of boys to look after already.”

Another laugh, then Spot’s hand pressed a little harder on his neck to pull him forward. “I’m not offering to look after you, Race.”

“Then what...” Racetrack started to ask, but before he got any further Spot leaned forward and kissed him. 

For a second Racetrack froze, hands still curled at his sides and waiting for Spot to pull back and laugh at the joke. It had to be a joke, just another Halloween prank like switching out the signs and knocking on doors or letting off firecrackers. But another second passed, then another, and Spot was still kissing him. Slowly Racetrack’s hands unclenched, then he reached up and rested them on Spot’s hips. When that didn’t get him laughed at Racetrack tried kissing him back; he didn’t know what he was doing, exactly, but Spot didn’t laugh at him then, either, so he figured he wasn’t doing too bad.

He didn’t notice the way his fingers were digging into Spot’s sides until Spot pulled back a little, grinning at Racetrack up close and reaching up to touch Racetrack’s mouth with the pad of his thumb. Racetrack forced himself to loosen his grip, bracing himself for Spot to pull away, but he just stood there, still pressed up against Racetrack and looking at him like he’d been thinking about kissing him for a long time.

“Is this a prank?”

Spot laughed, but he shook his head and dragged Racetrack forward to kiss him again. “It’s a negotiation.”

“What are we negotiating, exactly?” Racetrack asked, his voice breathy and higher than usual.

Another kiss, longer this time, and when Spot let him up again they were both breathing hard. That was enough to convince Racetrack that this wasn’t all some joke. He hoped it wasn’t, anyway, because he really wanted it to happen again. 

“You could be Brooklyn,” Spot said, and for the first time since Racetrack met him, he almost sounded nervous.

“And if I stick with Manhattan?” Racetrack asked, his fingers digging into Spot’s hips again. “That mean this is off the table?”

Spot shrugged, looking down for a second before he glanced up at Racetrack and grinned. “Be a lot easier if you were in Brooklyn.”

“Good thing I’m always in Brooklyn, then,” Racetrack said, then he gripped the front of Spot’s shirt to drag him forward for another kiss.


End file.
